


Hallelujah

by murphybabe



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 03:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13045239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murphybabe/pseuds/murphybabe
Summary: Bodie is missing at Christmas.





	Hallelujah

Pennington careered into the squad room.

  
‘Way-hey! What do all you little elves want for Christmas, eh?’ His Christmas cheer faded palpably as he spotted Doyle in the corner. ‘Oh, sorry, 4.5.‘ He took the tinsel from around his neck and bundled it awkwardly behind his back. ‘Still no news, then?’ Doyle shook his head silently.

  
Bodie had been missing for three days and nine hours now and the outlook was looking bleak. No one was admitting to having seen him. He’d stepped out for a paper and disappeared off the face of the earth.

  
Doyle had racked his brains. Had he been taken by someone? Had he seen something going down and gone to investigate? Had he spotted a villain and gone to investigate without calling for backup? Had he just stepped off a kerb under a bus and was even now languishing in hospital, or worse, in a morgue somewhere, because the stupid sod hadn’t had any ID on him? He dismissed that one though. They’d checked the morgues and all the London hospitals for any admittances over the last few days and no one of Bodie’s appearance had been recorded. Doyle had checked. Personally.

  
He became aware of a large shape in front of him. It was Murphy, peering apologetically at him.

  
‘The Old Man wants us. Bodyguard job, I think.’ Doyle snarled. ‘Yeah, I know, but better than just sitting here… waiting.’ Privately, Murphy considered that Bodie was most likely gone, killed by some villain out of his past, and they’d never find the body, but he wasn’t about to tell Doyle that. Let the lad have some hope still. It was Christmas, after all.

  
It was a bodyguard job. Samuel Levington the Third had put his young son into a small and exclusive prep school while he was working on a large contract between his company and the MOD. He and his wife were now at the school, along with a junior Minister, an Earl, a PPS and an assortment of military types, all waiting to see their offspring perform in the school Nativity play. Cowley had muttered that the Government should run its own academic establishments behind closed doors and stop wasting his valuable resources, but had allocated three agents for the afternoon. He’d issued strict instructions that if there were any intruders, they were to be held for questioning rather than shot on the spot. ‘And a nice muddle it’ll be, trying to sort out who’s after whom! Ach, off with you! And remember – alive!’

  
Anson had taken one look at the guest list and had declared that he was going to abandon CI5, run amok and hold everyone for ransom. ‘Oh, don’t joke,’ said Murphy. ‘Think of the paperwork you’d inflict on us. Besides,’ he eyed his colleague delicately, ‘we’d feel obliged to stop you.’ Anson gave a glance at Doyle, kicking moodily at the grass on the lawn. ‘Riiiiight,’ he said, unimpressed.

  
Murphy had taken the outside of the building with Anson. Having discussed it briefly, they’d reckoned it was up to them to stop any assassins getting in, as Doyle was obviously not on top form at the moment. ‘Mind you,’ Anson said as he checked his Browning, ‘if anyone does get in Doyle’ll shoot first and ask questions later. He’s not in any mood for negotiation.’

  
Inside, Doyle listened cynically as the headmistress welcomed everyone to ‘our little Christmas offering’, held out the promise of a glass of sherry and a mince pie at the end of the ordeal, and handed over to the narrator, who was already looking harassed. And who wouldn’t, thought Doyle, trying to corral twenty kids under the age of eight? She finally attracted their attention and started.  
‘This is a story about a very special birth.’

Doyle tuned out. He’d had enough of religion when he was young, and if he believed anything at all now, it wasn’t this. His mind wandered to the copy of Desiderata that Bodie had given him for his birthday. _Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune._ Yes, he needed that right now. _Bodie_. Where was he? How would he carry on, if Bodie never returned? The last words came to him: _strive to be happy_. Well, he’d try. Bodie would expect nothing less. But oh, it would be hard. _You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should._ Yeah, well, he didn’t like this ineffable bloody plan, thank you very much, so if whoever was in charge could just rewind and--

  
His attention snapped back to the room as there was a rustle in the audience, but it was merely amusement as a very small sheep spotted his mother and abandoned the play. The narrator continued, ‘Mary and Joseph set out for Bethlehem.’

  
Doyle leaned against the wall, watching the room morosely. There was a lot of money in evidence, with beautifully dressed women and men in sharp suits and expensive watches. The kids weren’t dressed in the usual tea towels and cardboard crowns, oh no, not for these privileged little tots. All the costumes looked as though they’d been commissioned from the Royal Opera House and then fitted specifically to each small personage.

  
He was pleased to see though that standard childish behaviour applied. One of the three kings was pinching his neighbour, and a shepherd was investigating the contents of his nose. The Angel Gabriel was fidgeting, obviously in need of a wee, and Mary was too busy undressing and redressing the dolly in the basket in front of her to remember her lines. Joseph pulled one of her long brown plaits and she turned around and thumped him. He started howling, and there was a small commotion in the audience. The narrator raised her voice. ‘All they could find was a stable.’

  
Doyle slipped out of the room and checked the corridor outside. Stupid, really. If Cowley thought there was a threat there should have been two of them inside at least. _Ah, mate…_

  
He checked in with Anson. ‘All quiet?’

  
‘Yep, nothing happening out here. Murph says it’s clear round his side too.’

  
Doyle patrolled swiftly through the corridors and returned to the hall. The play seemed to have moved on a bit at least: he supposed you’d have to keep it short, with young kids.  He turned his attention back to the room. He was fairly sure Cowley had given him this job as busy work, but you never knew.

  
‘An angel of the Lord appeared and said--‘

  
‘Oi! Doyle!’ Murphy was beckoning to him from the door, grinning all over his face.

  
He made his way over rapidly, disregarding the turning heads and whispers generated by his swift passage.

  
‘What? Problem?’

  
‘Nope!’ Murphy grabbed his hand and closed it around his own RT. ‘Happy Christmas, mate!’

  
Doyle raised the RT, not quite daring to hope.

  
A horrible, raspy voice croaked, ‘Ray?’

  
Choirs of angels could not have sounded sweeter.

**db end db**

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the twelfth Pros Christmas/Solstice/Winter Discoveredinalj challenge.
> 
> Hallelujah = used to express praise, joy or thanks; God be praised; praise Yah (God).


End file.
